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“That tiny sliver of ass cheek hanging out would meet my teeth before I pulled that negligee up over your head and used it to bind your hands.”
“Ares, I’m…” she warned.
“I’d wrap your hair around my fist and step in close behind you. Your naked ass pressed against me, I’d turn your head and kiss you slow, sweet, deep, my other hand smoothing over your tummy, dipping into your heat, swirling that little bud until you quaked.”
She cried out with her orgasm, my name on her sweet lips.
“Then,” I whispered as her breathing slowed. “So gently, I’d settle you onto your hands, run my hands along your back, wrap my palms around your hips, and fuck you til you spilled all over my cock.”
Complete silence, then, “Oh. My. Gawd. I might not survive you.”
Her voice dripped with satisfaction.
I breathed easy.
“I feel the same about you,” I answered honestly.
“Did you, um, did you look after yourself?” she asked huskily.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I’m going to make you suffer through the wait, I’m going to suffer more.”
Inky
Hope
At work, each encounter with Ares reminded me I carried a delicious secret. Or at least I thought I did until Eloise pulled me up on it at lunch.
The plane landed at nine in the morning. With having to unpack and set up the shoot, we didn’t have time to eat until well after noon. I was starving.
“Mm, this is so good,” I moaned around my meatball panini.
“Better than Ares?” she asked with a smirk.
My eyes went wide as the heat hit my face. “What? What are you talking about?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. Don’t even. Your poker face is as good as a ticker-tock display of your thoughts. You could not possibly look more pleased. He gave it to you good, hm?”
I sat up straight and gave her my most imperious look. “I’ll have you know I have not slept with him.”
She continued eating, her eyes assessing. “Well, he did something to light you up like that.”
Whatever showed on my face made her laugh out loud. I couldn’t help but join her.
“So, I gotta work on my poker face.”
She snorted. “You haven’t got a hope in hell. Better just to own up to the fact that you’re seeing each other.”
Her words rolled around in my head for the rest of the day. Late afternoon, we rolled out to meet with a designer and place an order with one of our supply houses. By the time we got back, the shoot had wound up, and Ares was nowhere to be found.
Wandering down the hall to my suite, I wondered if I should text him or wait for him to text me. I hated this juvenile bullshit. Why couldn’t people just say, ‘Hey, I like you, I think you’re hot, you impress the hell out of me, want to see if we click?’ but no. Dating, or not dating in our case, was like a chess game where the board spun, and the rules changed without notice.
But why should that change the way I approached things?
If he didn’t appreciate direct and honest, we were finished before we began.
